


Yes, You Called?

by M J Holyoke (wholeyolk)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Crack, Double Anal Penetration, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Nonconathon 2019, Sex Magic, Taking Liberties with Mesoamerican Mythology, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-05-20 05:23:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19370428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholeyolk/pseuds/M%20J%20Holyoke
Summary: “Alas, my beloved worshipers seem to have forgotten that I don’t normally accepthumansacrifices,” the voice continued. There was a rustling noise. José squinted; nope, he still couldn’t see anything in the gloom. But whatever was making that rustling noise sounded big, like,reeeaaally big, and—“Well, not for eating, anyway,” the voice added as José emitted an involuntary, choked sob.





	Yes, You Called?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wolfpeach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfpeach/gifts).



“—an you hear me? Son, why aren’t you awake yet? You promised me you’d take the vegetables to market, and it’s nearly midday already!”

José swore inwardly as his erection wilted in response to the shrill sound of his mama’s shouted call. He’d espied a cute guy in a neighboring village recently, and he was hoping he’d run into him again soon so that he could introduce himself. In the meantime, though, the cute guy made for great masturbatory fantasy material . . .

“Well? José?! Are you listening?! You know we need the money, and there won’t be any buyers left if you don’t hurry up and get going!”

“Okay, okay, I hear you, Mama! Gimme just a sec! I’m coming!” José yelled as he clambered out of bed. Too bad, he thought as he and rushed to throw on some clothing, it wasn’t the sort of “coming” he’d been anticipating.

The vegetables harvested from their garden were already waiting for him, heaped high and heavy in a large carrier basket by the door. José didn’t bother kissing his mama goodbye before grabbing the basket and heading outside.

The sun was white-hot in the sky, and the road had no shade to offer. The basket seemed to weigh a ton. Not a minute had gone by before José was huffing and puffing and sweating bullets and ruing the day he’d been born. He stared longingly into the shadows of the forest which the road skirted on its meandering path to market.

It would be cooler under the trees, and it was a shortcut. But only fools took it—there were deadly spiders and snakes hiding in the leaf litter, so you’d be taking your life into your hands.

“Fuck it,” José muttered to himself as he veered off into the trees. He’d risk it.

And he was just about to conclude (with no small amount of self-satisfaction) that it’d been a risk worth taking when the forest floor gave way under his feet.

“Uuunnnfff!”

José gazed dazedly upwards at the hole above him. He’d fallen four meters or more, he reckoned, and landed on his back. It’d been enough to knock the wind out of him but—he assessed himself from head to toe gingerly without attempting to rise—not enough to hurt him.

He coughed. Lots of dust. The air smelled stale. It also smelled of smashed vegetables . . .

Wait, vegetables? “Shit, shit, shit!” José swore as he levered himself upright onto one elbow and looked around. The basket lay overturned at his side, and he was surrounded by spilled vegetables in states varying from more or less intact to totally smashed. “Shit, shit, shit!” he repeated.

“Ohhh, are these for me? How generous! And here I’d thought my beloved worshipers had forgotten all about me!”

José started at the sepulchral voice that seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere. “Who’s there?” he called out, peering as best he could into the gloom.

This wasn’t just a hole in the earth, José realized belatedly. It was a _chamber_ , and the walls were covered with carved stone reliefs. They were covered in so much lichen that the actual images they depicted were impossible to decipher. But they were obviously _old_. Pre-Columbian? Aztec? Yeah, must be. Who’d’ve thought this would be here?

“Alas, my beloved worshipers seem to have forgotten that I don’t normally accept _human_ sacrifices,” the voice continued. There was a rustling noise. José squinted; nope, he still couldn’t see anything in the gloom. But whatever was making that rustling noise sounded big, like, _reeeaaally big_ , and—

“Well, not for eating, anyway,” the voice added as José emitted an involuntary, choked sob. “The food’s much appreciated, though. Don’t get me _started_ on how long I’ve been stuck down here with nothing to eat or drink or dooooo! I’m famished! But, you know, you’re awfully cute, and I’m also very horny . . . ”

The rustling was getting louder, and now José thought he could see what was talking, and it was a giant, feathered serpent.

A giant, feathered serpent which rising up vertically to loom over José’s still prone body—

“Oh, oh God,” José moaned—

“Yes, you called?”

And then the body of that giant, feathered serpent slithered on top of him, and it was so big he could barely breathe, and he feel something shifting, something thick and hard and prehensile, no, _two somethings_ , two thick and hard and prehensile and _slimy_ wet somethings, and those two somethings were tearing the seams of his trousers open and, and—

—and jamming themselves deep into his ass. It felt like being fisted. By _two_ fists. At once.

José shrieked, but the sound was muffled by the giant feathered serpent’s giant, glossy feathers.

“Mmm, nice!” the giant, feathered serpent declared as his two prehensile penises—presumably they were penises?—began to piston with a strong, steady rhythm in and out of José.

It was a fucking god. Yeah, it had to be a god . . . because only a god could make being fucking _raped_ by two slimy, prehensile penises up the ass feel this fucking _good_. His cock was red-hot pig iron and leaking moisture into the giant feathers which enveloped him. José mewled in the back of his throat, hips jerking, trying to deny the intensity of the sensation of his asshole being stretched, of his insides being pounded, of his prostate gland being rammed again and again and again, making bursts of light, like fireworks, dance across his vision—

“Oh, oh God,” José moaned—he couldn’t stop himself—his thighs opened wider of their own accord, to better accommodate the god’s awesome organs—no, no, no, he was going to come, come the way he’d wanted to earlier at home—

“Yes, you called?”

And then he was spilling his tribute onto his belly, spattering the giant feathered serpent’s feathers with the force of his ejaculation, and he was screaming as the two prehensile penises inside of him suddenly stilled, undulated sharp as a whip crack, one snap apiece, and began pulsing like twin pressure jets so deep into him he thought he’d be blowing giant, feathered serpentine semen out of his fucking _nose_ later.

“Mmm, that hit the spot. I should have acquired enough power to conjure myself a more suitable shape—hey, you _are_ awfully cute,” the giant, feathered serpent said, its voice lazy, satisfied, and replete. A forked tongue brushed his face—a kiss . . . ? The god’s body was still dead weight on top of José, pinning him, immobilized, as the two prehensile penises slipped out of him with two obscene pops and a veritable flood of fluid. Jose’s own cock gave one last weak spurt in response.

At some point, the body of the god got off of José, but José didn’t try to move himself. He was utterly exhausted by the fucking. He didn’t know how long he lay there, in fact, eyes squeezed tightly shut, just trying to calm himself and breathe.

Eventually, though, he became aware of loud munching, _crunching_ noises. José dared to crack one eye open. Yep, the giant, feathered serpent was curled around José like a giant, feathered coil and polishing off the last of his basket of vegetables.

“Oh, oh God,” José moaned and covered his face with his hands.

“Yes, you called?” The voice sounded less sepulchral than it had previously.

José hazarded a glimpse between his fingers and saw that the giant, feathered serpent wasn’t a giant, feathered serpent anymore. He’d become a man. A man with a supernaturally greenish tinge to his skin, it was true, but a man nonetheless . . . a youthfully handsome, muscular one who was waaaaay hotter than the object of José’s fantasies from the neighboring village.

“Mama’s gonna _kill_ me!”

 

* * *

_~ The End ~_

* * *


End file.
